A/N: Bold type is taken directly from Deathly Hallows. JKR owns it all.

Chapter 10:

Hermione stood in front of a townhouse she could only remember ever entering once. And that was the night Malfoy had been hospitalized. By the light of day, it seemed much less foreboding than it had then. Still, her heart was racing within her chest, a tempo to rival that night. They had exchanged a few letters, and each one she received, written in an elegant script with a leftward slant, had caused butterflies to flutter about in her belly.

Never before had she thought of the wizard as being so eloquent or been able to admire the antiquated romanticism of his mind. Truthfully, she'd never felt so loved by anyone before this strange set of circumstances. With every letter, each so full of hope and longing that it caused her own heart to ache, her hesitance melted away. If she weren't careful, Hermione could see herself falling for such a wizard.

The door opened and Malfoy stood there, his arms crossed as he leaned on the door jamb. "Are you just going to stand there all afternoon, or will you come in?"

"I'm still uncertain of the wards," she admitted, feeling a blush rise over her cheeks at his appearance.

Great. Now I've been reduced to a blushing schoolgirl. Malfoy raised a brow and sauntered down the stairs and the short stone path to where she waited. "You know, you once made me work for a password. I'm beginning to feel as though I should have a little fun here," he mentioned as he leaned a hip against the pillar.

Hermione could tell his tone was falsely arrogant, the anticipation of spending time together nearly vibrating from within him. "Well, I do have a lunch date with Viktor Krum. Perhaps I could spend a little more time preparing for that instead of with you?"

His gaze darkened and the smirk fell from his lips as he straightened his spine. "Krum? Why on earth would you be having lunch with him?"

"He's been my friend since fourth year. Turns out, Malfoy, green isn't your color after all. Jealousy is a thief of happiness."

He didn't look convinced as he sighed and extended his hand through the shimmering ward to her. The muscles of his jaw still worked though he said no more of her afternoon plans. "You should have been a damn Slytherin, you know. Get in the house, little witch, before you cause the death of me."

With a smirk not unlike his, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled swiftly onto the property. The butterflies tickled further when he didn't release her hand on the other side, instead pulling her gently toward the front entrance. A wreath hung on the door and she touched it delicately, inhaling its scent as she passed through. "Lavender. How pretty."

"A reminder of our wedding," Malfoy mumbled with a shrug.

A painful tug at her chest, and Hermione remembered why she was here. To relearn a man whom she had no recollection of ever having loved. To relive memories that are both her own and foreign all the same. The house looked much more serene as she entered it this time around, all of the broken glass and evidence of his outburst cleaned. There were odds and ends all over that she knew had belonged to her—a coffee mug that read 'Manchester United' that she'd taken from her father's cupboard before heading to Hogwarts some years back; a plush knit blanket of deep crimson draped over the arm of the sofa; her beloved kneazle.

"Crookshanks!" she nearly squealed, finally dropping Malfoy's hand to bend and retrieve her familiar. "I've missed you!"

As she ran her face along his fur, chuckling at the rumbling purr he was emitting, Malfoy raised a hand and scratched behind his ears. The creature leaned back into his hand, looking completely content to be between the pair. "He's been keeping me company since you went away," Malfoy stated, though his hand stilled in the orange depths of fur. "Though, I understand if you wanted to take him back to the Burrow."

Hermione glanced around the living area of the townhome. Though Malfoy and Crookshanks lived in France during the week, the evidence of Crooks' spoils were strewn about. Feather streamers magicked into birds with long tails and catnip mice enchanted to chase one another flitted around their legs. Her kneazle was already eyeing a bright green mouse hungrily. Though he had never liked any of her other friends, Crookshanks clearly enjoyed his time with Malfoy. "Why don't you keep him a little while longer? I have plenty of people to occupy my time at the Burrow."

Relief washed over his face as he gave her a heartfelt smile. "I appreciate that. Paris has been...rather lonely. Would you like some tea? I've got cinnamon quills."

"I'd like that, thank you," she smiled, following him into the kitchen. "From your journal entries, it sounds as though you're taking to your apprenticeship like a sprite to water."

"Potions is really where I excel most," he placed a teacup in front of her, made exactly to her liking, "so it feels natural to be surrounded by it in a Healing capacity."

"Have you always wanted to be a Healer, then? Even if it's on the medicinal side?"

At this question, Malfoy squirmed in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. "I decided after everything I saw when the Dark Lord terrorized my home that I would strive to be something more than a disgraced Death Eater."

Hermione placed her hand over his, steadying it where he was stirring much too vigorously with a spoon. "Ron and Harry told me that you helped us escape from your house. That you saved me when your aunt tortured me?"

"I was a coward. I should have killed her."

"You said you have a way to show me memories. I'd like to know…" she lifted the sleeve of her shirt and traced a finger over the scar there, "how I got this."

"Those aren't the memories I had in mind when I asked you to meet me here, Granger. Those are some of the darkest times of our lives—any of us. Me, you, Potter, Weasley. If I had the ability to forget that day, I would gladly take it."

Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought of how best to phrase it so that he could understand that this wasn't something she merely wanted. She needed to know what happened. How she first came to be entangled with him that day, during his first openly heroic act. "Please, Draco. I need to know everything, starting with this. I look at the scars every day—not only this slur, but a dozen stretching across my abdomen and legs, a large one on my back—and the inability to recall how I received any of them weighs on me heavily. Everyone else carries the burden of the War, the knowledge that this world could have been drastically different if Harry had died at the castle, the bruised memories of the atrocities. I need to remember. To feel."

"Granger," Malfoy began, his tone guarded and hesitant, "it would be like watching a Muggle film. These are memories, but they can't make you remember. I think you'll feel all the wrong things. Feelings that would be better left buried."

"It's finally sinking in that you care for me—"

"I love you."

"—and you want what you think is best for me. But I need this."

Malfoy swiped the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as his brow furrowed with unease. To hide the trembling of his hand, he clamped it around the teacup. "I don't have that particular memory in the collection. I think this would be better with Legilimency—you'd be able to live what I did that day; thoughts, actions, emotions."

"I'm not a skilled Legilimens."

"I can help you. You are far more skilled and capable than you give yourself credit for." Taking the last gulp of tea, he stood and extended his hand once more. "Come upstairs with me."

"Not-not to your room. Our...room."

Huffing an anxious laugh, he shook his head. "No. To the library."

Her hand in his, Hermione followed behind Malfoy, her heart thumping at the base of her throat. Her Auror team was waiting a pace down the road, but she knew instinctively that their services would not be needed. The steady pulsing of magic coursing through their locked hands tickled through her veins. Nearly euphoric, the warmth of his magic enveloped her and left her far more calm than she had felt since waking after the attack.

At the landing of the stairs was a large mahogany door, cracked open to reveal a warm and expansive library. Charmed to be larger than the entire ground floor, the stacks rose taller than she and went back further than they had at Hogwarts. Malfoy placed a finger under her chin to close her slackened jaw with a breathy laugh. "We both agreed on this room. Let's have a seat on the couch."

He gestured to the loveseat nearest a crackling fireplace, the room a pleasant temperature despite being late summer. Sitting first, one leg drawn beneath him as he faced the other cushion, he patted the seat before her. Hermione lowered herself slowly, still trying to take in every square inch of the library. "I love it here."

"This technically belongs to you as well. You're welcome to come here any time. Take any books from the stacks to enjoy."

Hermione dragged her gaze to meet his and found him watching her intently. "I may take you up on that offer. But first, I'd like to see what happened that day."

His eyes dropped from hers as he wrapped a hand around where she gripped her wand. "You know how to do this—it's an intrinsic ability. Not something readily taught. You just have to focus and be careful. I will bring a memory forth, and I want you to tell me what it is. Point this right between the eyes and focus every bit of magical energy you can harness."

Her hand began wobbling and his grip tightened, holding her steady. She couldn't remember ever having delved into anyone's mind before, yet a familiarity settled over her as she stared into the mercurial depths of his eyes. "Legilimens!"

Hermione's focus shifted from staring into his eyes to peeking into the depths of his soul. Before her, she could see a massive manor looming in the distance. Staring out at the world, through the filter of Malfoy's mind, she watched as he fed stark-white peacocks. She could feel the agonizing dread driving the steady drumming of his heart. As a tear slid from his eyes, a strange shudder coursed through his body and confusion reigned as he glanced around. Shivers shuddered down his spine as he pulled his cloak closer around his neck.

Uncertain of where they were or what she was expected to gain from this memory of his, Hermione tried to fight the overwhelming anguish that wracked through him. Suspicious as he glanced around himself, Malfoy made a clicking noise to draw the attention of the nearest bird, who ignored him steadfastly. "Not even the bird can stand to be around me. He knows I'm nothing but a cretin." Hermione was surprised by this thought of Malfoy's as he conjured treats and enticed the bird to come closer.

He stroked the peacock as it ate greedily from his outstretched hand, cooing praises that plucked at Hermione's heartstrings. He drew his legs up and put his head back against the tree trunk and Hermione saw in his own memory's mind a vision of Draco bending to kiss her. A serenity warred for the prominent spot within him until whatever cue he had been waiting for finally arrived. "Draco! Draco, darling, it's time!"

His eyes snapped open and every ounce of calm that had been there a moment before was replaced by a horrific feeling. Hermione had never felt such a raw, agonizing despair in her life. His heart was beating so heavily in his chest that Hermione put a hand to her own, as though it would somehow calm him.

Malfoy lowered her wand away from his face gently and she was again met with his silvery eyes, glassier than they had been a moment before. "I don't understand."

"What did you see?"

"I—you were sitting near what I assume was your house, feeding peacocks."

"Very good. That was precisely what I wanted you to see," he complimented, though his skin had paled while she was inside his mind. "That was the scene you witnessed when you first scryed. I didn't know it then, but that shiver was caused by you, running your fingers over my face. You're a Beholder—you connected with me through your visions."

"It was awful. Malfoy," she placed her hand on his knee, concerned, "what happened that night? Why the unbearable dread?"

"That was the night I got this," he lamented, lifting the left sleeve of his shirt.

Hermione knew to expect the Mark. What she didn't expect was the palpable self-loathing she could feel radiating from him. She moved her hand from his knee and laid it gently over the hateful scar. "It doesn't matter. You didn't want it—I could feel your sorrow."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that I still took it. I was a naive little boy with grandiose ideas. I was stupid, Granger. How you ever forgave me, looked past this. I don't deserve you."

Hermione lifted her other hand, trickling it over his cheek where his jaw worked beneath stiffened muscle. "I can't pretend I understand fully. Not yet. But I'm hoping to after I piece it all together using the memories."

Malfoy covered her hand on his cheek and leaned into it. "The day you want me to show you...it's shameful how cowardly I was."

"That's not the way Ron and Harry tell the story. I want to see it just the way it took place."

"Please don't leave me after you see it."

The remorse etched in the newly acquired grooves of his face and the set of his features played on Hermione's emotions. She nearly called off the meeting, guilt eating at her as she watched the way he seemed to wither under the weight of the memory. It was selfish of her, and as her mouth opened to apologize for even suggesting he relive the moment, Malfoy lifted her wand between his eyes once more. "I can't lose you all over again. I wouldn't make it."

"You won't. No matter what I see, I know you did what you had to save your family and yourself. To save us."

His eyes closed momentarily as he steeled himself for her intrusion of his mind. When he reopened them, he let a slow breath hiss between his lips. Honey and warm tea washed over her face and she licked her lips instinctively, disappointed when the honey evaded her taste. Malfoy's hand quivered on the end of her wand as he raised his chin and met her gaze. "Okay."

"Legilimens!"

The oppression and fear was like an anvil, anchoring Malfoy to the spot. From his point of view, she saw herself bound to Ron and Harry—whose face was grotesquely swollen. His mother and father stood, looking at him with reluctant hope and Hermione knew he was in trouble. "You called for me, Mother?" he asked, taking one more hesitant step into the room.

"Draco, come closer, darling. Tell me, is this Harry Potter?" Narcissa asked and the werewolf Greyback turned them so that Harry was directly under the chandelier, illuminating his lumpy face.

A war began brewing within Malfoy, one that made him raise his hand a run it over his heart as he made his way to the trio. In his thoughts, he took note of how sickly Hermione looked, how war-worn they all appeared. His eyes flickered from the paled, dirty trio to his mother. His heart was thrumming painfully and indecision engulfed him completely.

A gentle tickle rippled the air around him, a foreign magic and he furrowed his brow. "Draco," came her voice, and his eyes darted to where she stared into the mirror, a dazed look on her face. Hermione wondered at the peculiar countenance of her reflection, and Malfoy felt as confused in his memory as she did now. "Draco. We're in trouble. Please. You have to help us get out of here."

He was facing Harry, but his eyes were travelling over her odd stare. His thoughts were whirring, wondering how she was communicating, seemingly telepathically. The image of him with the peacocks entered his mind as the air shimmered around him once more.

Everyone in the room was urging him to identify them, but his focus was solely on her face, all other sound falling on deaf ears. "The peacocks? That was you with me?" he whispered so quietly, he may not have even spoken.

When Hermione gave a subtle nod, the terror and confusion filled him once more. His father was shouting at him. "But then, that's the Weasley boy! It's them, Potter's friends—Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"

His eyes glanced over his mother once more as he rose and turned his back on them. "Yeah. It could be," and the self-deprecation he was feeling was enough to make Hermione choke as though she were drowning on his behalf.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?" It was a voice she recalled as belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange and she could feel the prickling, agonizing alarm as Malfoy quietly swore under his breath. His head shook side to side slowly, and he refused to acknowledge any of his aunt's questions. "But surely, this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

Malfoy's eyes met hers and his every limb shook beneath the fabric of his suit. Conflict raged within him as different scenarios, all ending with Bellatrix murdering him savagely or Voldemort slitting his mother's throat, played like a flip book in his mind. Nausea welled within him as he watched his father and aunt argue over who would call the snake-like bastard.

Bellatrix shot Stunning Spells at the bountyhunters. "Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me," she instructed, and his feet began moving toward them, though Hermione could feel his desire to rebel. He began trying to formulate a plan on how to overthrow his family, though each one cleared with a subtle shake of his head.

Shooting a glance at the Trio, lingering for a moment on Hermione, Malfoy levitated the two unconscious men out of the room. He quickly dropped them amidst his mother's withering begonias and jogged back into the drawing room.

"Wait! All except…except for the Mudblood," Bellatrix was instructing, and the twistedly perverted gleam Greyback's eye made Malfoy's stomach turn. Hermione felt her own heart smothering her as she watched through Malfoy's vision.

Ron thrashed violently and Hermione heard herself gasp as she watched Bellatrix grab a handful of her hair and pull her along the rug. As Greyback pulled Ron and Harry away, he landed a thwacking punch to the redhead's lip.

Hermione watched as Bellatrix climbed atop her, twisted and winding her dirty fingers within her curls to hold her head still. Screams rang and echoed through the room and Malfoy's body felt as though he would be sick as his hand went over his mouth. Ron's bellowing screeches mixed vulgarly with her wailing as Malfoy moved closer to her.

"Stop screaming! It only makes it worse!" Malfoy's lips hadn't moved, but clearly she'd heard his instructions because she snapped her jaw shut. Concern and crippling worry rang through Malfoy's body and Hermione felt as he harnessed every bit of magic he contained to perform a wandless, wordless spell. Her body stopped moving and relief washed over him, before a fresh wave of terror. "Keep thrashing, so she doesn't suspect anything," his voice instructed as he used Legilimency to communicate with her.

Malfoy concentrated and Hermione wondered at his actions before seeing herself berating Ron for leaving them in the woods. Harry and Ron told of how the sword of Gryffindor—the very thing Bellatrix had been screeching about for the past few minutes—had appeared at the bottom of a lake. Instead of feeling relieved, Hermione could tell Malfoy felt a renewed wave of fright. Entering her now-cleared mind, he demanded, "It's real?" and Hermione nodded from the floor.

Bellatrix withdrew a dagger from her boot and Hermione felt a sense of dread as she watched, knowing instinctively what was to come. Her voice entered Malfoy's subconscious as he picked around in her mind. "We will win the War, I've seen it! But we need to get out of here!"

Bellatrix's dagger dug into the pale flesh of her arm and Hermione could tell that Malfoy's earlier Cooling Spell hadn't been enough to stave off the pain. He closed his eyes to her suffering, swallowing vomit and saliva rapidly. He mentally focused his attention to her arm and cast a spell to solidify her blood and harden her skin's exterior. "Her blood is so thick with sullied mud that she doesn't even bleed right!" his aunt huffed, causing Malfoy to open his eyes.

MUDBLOOD. Hermione could feel the disgust and remorse within him as he continued his effort to stymie the bleeding, fighting to keep her alive despite her wounds.

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

His thoughts were jumbled though a plan formulated and Hermione knew what he was to do a split second before it happened. Her body stilled on the floor and Malfoy's eyes flickered from a spot on his aunt's dress to just above Hermione's right hip. He closed his eyes as he entered her mind, his voice now frantic. "I don't know what is in that vault at Gringotts, but you need to get there and quick. I have levitated a hair from her dress to your body. It is stuck by your right pocket. Make a polyjuice potion and get whatever is in that vault. It must be precious to the Dark Lord or she would not be acting this way. And Granger? I'm sorry I couldn't stop her. The elf is here. He will rescue you."

Hermione's wand wobbled dangerously in her hand until she dropped it in between them. The same hand went over her mouth, afraid she would be sickened by what she'd seen. Malfoy was already pulling at her arms, ushering her into an embrace when she realized that she was crying silently. Shushing her and running a hand over her hair, he whispered his remorseful condolences and she buried her face into his neck. Her fingers clawed into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as tears splashed from her cheeks and ran rivulets over his neck and collarbone.

The lump in her throat was suffocating as she repeatedly envisioned herself writhing under Bellatrix's grasp. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for it all. You have to believe me, Granger, if I could do it all over again, I would have killed her." Malfoy's voice sounded distant, like it was being filtered through water though the deep timber of it vibrated through her.

"I thought," she began, clenching her eyes from against the fabric of his shirt, "I thought I could handle it. I lived through it!"

"You were fighting to survive then—shock and desperation likely numbed your despair and drove your will to live. You'd been on the run with Potter for months and months and were so close to finding all of the Horcruxes. You knew that surviving was the only way to win the war and you persevered. Watching it now, even with the danger of your attacker remaining uncaptured, is different. You can allow yourself to feel these emotions now."

It was the first real, prolonged contact she'd shared with Malfoy since her awakening, but she found his voice and embrace soothing. Willing the lingering remnants of the memory of Malfoy's anguish to dissipate, she gulped down air until her breathing returned to a normal speed and her tears began to dry. Hermione leaned back, retrieving her forgotten wand to dry his shirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you relive that, either."

"I'm not the one who lost my memory," he murmured quietly, dropping his eyes to stare at his hands in his lap. "I can still taste the Dark Magic in the air, still hear Bellatrix's raging screams when you all escaped, still feel the seething in my veins from the resulting torture I received."

Hermione saw how utterly broken Malfoy was, how indescribably splintered he had become after the war shook her. Her two friends had nightmares, sure, but they had gone on to become Aurors and continue their work. But the wizard in front of her hadn't been afforded the same luxury. Of course, he'd been on the losing side. Harry had told her of Malfoy's trial, of the time he had spent in Azkaban waiting to be served his life's fate. Ginny had told of a reclusive Slytherin, alone and forlorn until a spritely and fierce bookworm had pulled him from the depressive abyss.

A tiny flame danced in her heart, licked at her compassion. Rage. She placed her fingertips under his chin to lift his face. Hermione began to feel enraged that someone had stolen the one thing that had held Draco Malfoy's shattered pieces together—her love. Without it, he was a hollow shell. He put on a smile and a mask of lessened pain, but staring within the icy depths of his gaze, she could see a man barely holding himself together enough to carry on another day.

"Malfoy," she paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, "we need to find whoever did this. And how. But first—"

"Potter has the book. He's been trying—"

She placed a finger over him to silence his utterances. "I want to watch the memories. All of them. I need to remember you; to remember us."

o-o-o

A/N: Well, we begin to see the old, protective Hermione showing through here, even after she had a weak moment.